


All Hands On Deck

by Magik3



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-03-14 06:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13584345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Somehow in the midst of it all, Illyana ends up having a few pretty happy years dating & living with (former?) super-villain Spiral.





	1. I Am Not a Chicken Person

**Author's Note:**

> This is a few years after Spiral rescues & adopts the mutant kid Ginny (codename: Inspire) and the two of them settle down to what looks like a pretty normal life (but isn't really). I'm putting cute domestic stuff separate from my other Illyana/Spiral fic for any readers who want zero smut.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This comes from the bit when Illyana goes to Spiral's house for a date: "Spiral had a little house pretty far out in the country on an acre or so of wooded land. I guess when you have six arms, you can’t really plunk yourself down among the normals. But there were chickens in the yard. Chickens! I almost turned around and left because although I originally come from a farm (or probably because of it) I am not a chicken person."

Spiral has five chickens: Cadence, Dizzy, Jump, Bebop and Boogie.  
  
Cadence is the queen chicken, if chickens have queens. Maybe she’s “ruler of the coop” if they don’t do gendered titles like that. She’s also the prettiest chicken; she’s more amber than light brown. Cadence and I get along just fine.  
  
Dizzy’s name fits. It might not even be a Jazz reference. Dizzy is the darkest brown of the lot, which is not helpful since she tends to get lost in the trees.  
  
Jump has speckles. That’s all I know about Jump.  
  
I think Bebop and Boogie are in a serious lesbian chicken relationship. They’re both light brown and amber. They always hang out together and it’s hard to tell them apart, which sucks because Boogie is a real asshole.  
  
I find it hard to get repeatedly peck-attacked by a chicken and not just drop it through a hole into Limbo. The fact that I haven’t done this shows how much I like Spiral and Ginny—and that despite everything, I’m not as much of an asshole as Boogie is.  



	2. Many Hands Make Light Work

When I got home, Spiral was vacuuming the living room while dusting with three of her other hands. She was in tan cargo shorts, barefoot, white tank top, tan bandana holding her hair out of her face. I watched until she noticed me.  
  
“What’s that expression?” she asked  
  
“I’m wondering why this is so weirdly hot,” I told her.  
  
“Probably because it means you don’t have to do this,” she suggested with a smirk.  
  
I smirked back and she raised her eyebrows at me.  
  
She asked, “You never clean?”  
  
I shook my head.  
  
“Cleaning service?” she ventured.  
  
“In a manner of speaking.”  
  
“You don’t … you do! You summon demons to clean your apartment?”  
  
I shrugged and said, “Hey I have to manage a whole dimension for them, they can dust and vacuum for me. They do a bang-up job too.”  
  
She put four hands on her hips and asked, “Why haven’t you ever brought them here?”  
  
“I thought … I’m so used to people freaking out when I even talk about demons, I assumed you wouldn’t want them in your house or near Ginny.”  
  
“They’re your minions, right? They’re not going to hurt us.”  
  
I winced at her use of the word “minions.” S’ym and I had had a lot of talks about that. We both agree there’s some real anti-demon sentiment in too many of the human worlds.  
  
I told Spiral, “I don’t say ‘minions.’ It’s pretty rude and it doesn’t translate well into demonic.”  
  
“How not?” she asked, her face easy and open with curiosity.  
  
I liked that she didn’t foist her opinions into my world. She’d probably had minions at various points, but she didn’t assume our experiences were the same.  
  
“The closest word means something like ‘snacks,’” I explained. “Which makes sense if you understand how demons transmit power. Anyway, I just call them my people.”  
  
“Well bring your people over and get them to do the rest of this damned dusting.”


	3. Caution: Jazz Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human bodies were not meant to have six arms. Sometimes Spiral is in a surprising amount of pain.

  
I woke because Spiral was groaning in pain next to me. Early morning light edged in around the blinds. I half sat and looked down at her. Her eyes were shut tight, like she’d winced and didn’t want to open them.   
  
“You awake?” I whispered.   
  
She made an affirmative sound.   
  
“What hurts?”  
  
“Shoulders three and five, maybe four too, the ribs and spine. Must’ve slept weird and subluxed them.” A pause and she muttered, “Partial dislocation. Happens.”   
  
“What can I do?” I asked, afraid to touch her in case I made it worse.  
  
“Medicine cabinet, green pill bottle, and the amber one with the smiley face drawn on it, and get that blue glass one with the eyedropper too. And water.”   
  
Spiral’s medicine cabinet was frightening: rows and rows of colored bottles with names I didn’t understand and icons that seemed much too cute for the bottles’ likely contents. That told me Ginny had to come get meds for Spiral a lot, because Spiral surely knew what the names meant, so the icons had to be for Ginny.   
  
I took the bottles back to Spiral. She dry-swallowed four pills, chased them with an eyedropper full of a very black liquid and tipped her head up far enough to take a few swallows of water.   
  
“Thanks,” she breathed. “Would you help me to the floor? I can do it myself but it looks very spidery.”  
  
“Of course,” I said and helped her swing her feet over the side, then got under two of her left arms and we slid together to the floor beside the bed.   
  
I added, “You never look spidery.”  
  
“You’re the only person who doesn’t think that. Except Ginny maybe.”   
  
She stretched her upper arms along the floor over her head and her back made a sickening set of crunching sounds. She said “fuck” a lot.  
  
Maybe to distract myself more than her, I said, “It’s fairly common for demons to have eight limbs. Usually four legs and four arms, or six legs, two arms. I grew up with people like you.”   
  
She chuckled. “Demons are people?”  
  
“Yes. Or better than. Sometimes.”   
  
“Huh. Go make coffee if you want, this is going to take a while.”   
  
I went because I wanted coffee almost as much as I didn’t want to hear the sounds her joints made when she moved.   
  
When I returned with a mug for me and one for her, she had all her arms fanned out on the floor and even intervals and looked shockingly like Indian statues of dancing goddesses.   
  
“You look like a goddess … in a lot of pain,” I told her.   
  
“Durga,” she grumbled. “Though I think he was going for Kali. Not that they aren’t sometimes the same.”   
  
“Was it something we did last night?” I asked as I settled back down next to her and cupped the warm coffee mug. It had an image of a triangular yellow road sign on it, a human figure throwing up its hands, and the words: _Caution: Jazz Hands_. I tried to scowl at it and failed.   
  
“The sex? No. Not even that part when we fell over the side of the bed.” She grinned, winced, rolled a shoulder and I heard more pops than I should’ve. She went on, “But the fact that we had sex, maybe. The more relaxed I am, the more this happens.”  
  
“That doesn’t seem fair.”  
  
“Nothing Mojo did to me was fair.” The words came out more flat than bitter.  
  
I reached to her nearest hand and brushed her fingertips. She caught my hand and held on tight. So did I.   
  
“Do you ever want to take them off?” I asked.  
  
Her face went hard. “Do you ever want to stop being a demon?” she shot back.  
  
I thought about it for a bit. “Now or in the past?”   
  
“I take it back. It wasn’t a good question.”  
  
“Neither was mine.”  
  
“Yours was,” she said. “Human bodies weren’t built for six arms. I need to mod my spine again. It’s not holding up well. But it’s hard to work on that part of my body. I can’t see it clearly and I’m going to have to fuse a bunch of it. I’ll lose some mobility. Maybe a lot.”  
  
I leaned back against the side of the bed and sipped my coffee without letting go of her hand. “There are days when, if I could go back and stop it all from happening, I would. But not most days.”   
  
“Mmhm,” she agreed. “We are what we are.”  
  
“I like the power and the knowledge. I just wish it hadn’t hurt so much to get.” I didn’t add: _and still hurts so much_. Right now she knew that a lot better than me.   
  
“I tried to remove six once,” she said. That was her left arm of the bottom set, one that was partly metal. “The phantom pain was unbelievable. He wired these into my brain very thoroughly. Plus the bones, what he had to change to do this, I don’t have the same kind of rib cage you do. And I have a lot of scapulas. To take off the arms, I’d have to rebuild a lot of my torso and,” her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “I don’t know how.”   
  
“You could ask the school,” I suggested. “Medical’s very smart.”  
  
“You know how many of them I’ve tried to kill? All. Of. Them. You really think they’d want to help me?”  
  
“Yeah, they’re good people. Well, most of ‘em.”  
  
She smiled crookedly, like only half her mouth believed what I’d said.   
  
“But I like the power,” she said. After a few breaths adding, “And the ability to chop two kinds of vegetables at the same time while stirring a pot. Bring me that chair so I can get up, would you?”  
  
“I can help you up.”  
  
“No.”  
  
I got the chair and brought it next to her. “Here?”  
  
“That’s good. Go into the kitchen. I’m a goddamned teleporting space ninja assassin, I don’t want you watching me try to stand up.”  
  
I knelt down and kissed her. “Pretty sure it’d still be sexy.”  
  
“Oh fuck off,” she said, but she was grinning.  
  
“I’ll go make eggs.”  
  
“Don’t you dare. You’ll burn them all to hell.”  
  



	4. Of Course Some Demons Got Loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're going to summon demons to clean your girlfriend's house, it's not like they're going to stay put.

  
I summoned a few small demons into Spiral’s house to clean on a weekly basis. Given time, of course, they figured out how to get out. I hadn’t put as thorough wards on Spiral’s place as I have on my apartment. I do a lot of magic in my apartment that it wouldn’t have been polite or wise to do at Spiral’s. She’s got her own cosmic magic which is more like Limbo magic than some earth magic, but not the same.   
  
Three little demons got out. We caught two in the woods and then, yeah, we took a break and made out among the trees because hunting demons with Spiral is ridiculous fun.   
  
“Where’s the third?” she asked after it became clear that we should find that little asshole and just go to bed.  
  
“Near the house still. Didn’t go into the trees. Must be hiding.”  
  
As we walked back toward the house, I could feel more clearly the locus of demon energy and said, “Oh fuck. It’s in the coop.”  
  
Spiral swore and teleported ahead. When I got there, moments later, she was standing in the doorway laughing. “Chickens are fine,” she said. “But you’re screwed.”  
  
I looked around her. A grinning little, brown demon had its arm around Boogie.   
  
I crouched and moved into the coop. The door is only about five feet high, so I had to bend over to get in. But it was built for a dozen chickens, so I wasn't completely hemmed in once I got inside.   
  
Boogie hopped down from her nest and got between me and the demon, feathers up, pecking face on.   
  
“You sure you don’t want chicken for dinner?” I called back to Spiral.   
  
From just outside the coop door, Spiral asked, “You okay seeing Ginny cry for days?”  
  
“Oh fuck.” In Demonic, I said <All right, buddy, come on out of there. I’ll get you something nice in Limbo.>  
  
It shook its head and hunkered down in the nest. It wasn’t much bigger than a chicken. It had a bit of yolk on its chin. Must’ve already eaten an egg. That did not bode well. Demons who ate Earth food tended to want to stay. I didn’t blame them. Limbo was not a culinary paradise.

<You can work in the palace,> I told it.   
  
<Feather-demon-friends,> it said and put an arm around Beebop, one nest over, who actually pressed into the demon’s side.   
  
“Whoa,” Spiral said. I was still crouched so she could see this chicken-demon love action over my shoulder.   
  
“Yeah, somehow in less than a half hour this demon negotiated a poly triad with your chickens,” I said.   
  
A car pulled up and Spiral stepped around to the side of the coop so she couldn’t be seen from the driveway. Cheerful goodbyes and a slamming door announced that Ginny was home from school.   
  
Ginny was a junior now and all her lessons about pecking order from the chickens were paying off—she had friends to drop her off every day so she didn’t have to take the bus anymore.  
  
She walked to the coop door and looked in. Her hair was still short and mostly blond, except where some blue had grown out at the tips and was turning a pretty good green.  
  
She asked, “Are the chickens okay? What is _that_?”  
  
I started to say “demon” and explain but Ginny kept talking. “It’s so cute. Oh wow. Hey little one, are you being a chicken too?”  
  
The demon grinned literally ear to ear.   
  
“Oh you’re like a little monkey. A little four-armed monkey. Can we keep it? Is it an ‘it’ or like ‘she’ or ‘he?’ How do you describe demons?”  
  
“It has four legs, two arms, not four arms,” I told her, mostly by reflex because I had not caught up with all of this yet.   
  
“What’s its name?” Ginny asked.  
  
“Uh,” I said because neither lesser demon names nor pronouns translated well into English.   
  
“We should call it Pumpernickel,” Ginny said. “Because it’s that color. But I can’t keep calling you ‘it’ can I? We’ll go with ‘them’ until Yana recovers okay?”   
  
The little demon chirped and huffed agreeably.   
  
“You already have a cat, a dog, that squirrel and five chickens,” Spiral said. “You do not need a demon.”  
  
She didn’t really have that squirrel. That squirrel lived in the woods but came to visit often enough that Ginny had named it “Doreen.” Because it was a girl squirrel. Yeah, I know.   
  
Ginny tilted her head and whined to Spiral, “Yes I dooooo. Please. Nobody else at school has a demon. And we all know the chickens are yours.”  
  
“If we say yes—and we are nowhere near yes—you cannot ever tell anyone about this,” I said.  
  
“I won’t. I promise.” Ginny paused and got the canny look on her face that I’d learned to dread because she was a very perceptive kid. “Why is there a demon here anyway? If you two are planning on taking over the world, I want Canada.”   
  
“Seriously?” Spiral asked. “Canada’s really cold. You could have some tropical islands or South America.”   
  
Ginny shook her head. “Canada has maple syrup, hockey, bacon and the word ‘hoser.’ Plus it’s going to dominate with all the global warming happening. I want to be queen of Canada.”   
  
Spiral was trying so hard not to smirk as she said, “Fine, when we take over the world, you’re queen of Canada. But you still have to do homework.”  
  
“Not when I’m queen, I don’t, right Yana?”  
  
“Actually I do more homework now than anyone I know,” I said. “To be truly good at magic requires a lot of practice.”   
  
“See,” Spiral told her, packing a lot of definitive finality into that one word.   
  
“You two are terrible. You could do almost anything and you,” she pointed a finger at Spiral, “still use that clunky old vacuum.”  
  
Spiral looked away.   
  
“You got rid of it?”   
  
“Kind of,” Spiral said, still not looking at Ginny. Spiral was a smooth, brilliant liar to everyone, including me, but never to Ginny.  
  
“Did you finally give in and use magic?” Ginny asked.   
  
“Well … kind of.”   
  
“Oh holy canaries, you got a demon to vacuum for you? I can't even. What else do they do?”   
  
“Dusting. We tried dishes but they lick the plates in really disturbing ways," Spiral admitted.  
  
“Do you think this one could learn to scoop the cat box?” Ginny asked.   
  
“Interesting,” Spiral said. “Illyana, are there reasons we shouldn’t keep a house demon?”  
  
“Yeah, like fifty reasons. Good ones, too.”  
  
“Are any of those worse than everything else we already do?”  
  
“Hm, probably not.” I turned back to the demon. <You would have to wear a collar and stay in the house. You would have to swear-magic-oath that you would not [untranslatable] and also not [very untranslatable]. You swear life-fealty-magic-oath to me. You do work and teach that one not to peck me. Then you can stay short-time and we’ll see if this works.>  
  
<Swear oaths collar yes. Sleep in soft? Eat golden liquids?>  
  
<Eat many things, all good, yes. Sleep in soft and warm. You betray and I will eat you whole; one bite, gone.>  
  
It bowed a lot at that point, then scampered along the coop wall, leapt past my shoulder and into Ginny’s arms. She laughed and held it like a baby on her hip.   
  
She tapped her chest with one finger and said, “Ginny,” then tapped it and said, “Pumpernickel.”  
  
“Gineee,” it squealed. “Poooompernickl.”  
  
Ginny carried Pumpernickel toward the house while Boogie and Beebop rushed after them, clucking with alarm, despair and longing.   
  
“You’re a hazard, Demon Queen,” Spiral said to me.   
  
“Tell me about it.”  
  



	5. We're Not Living Hands-To-Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Illyana asks some questions she's not sure she wanted the answers to, and gets a few answers that are better than she expected.

  
Her mail was actually addressed to Spiral Devi. I wonder what the post office thought about that. Probably that she was some kind of rockstar, which in a lot of circles, she was.   
  
I put the mail on the kitchen counter. Spiral came in the backdoor with four hands full of eggs and two full of basil from the garden.  
  
“Your mail’s all addressed to Spiral,” I said.   
  
“Who did you think you were sleeping with?”   
  
“You’re _that_ Spiral? I have to rethink this whole thing. Why not Rita?”  
  
“Rita’s dead.”   
  
She put the eggs in their basket and rinsed the basil in the sink. Her words hung in the air. I didn’t know a thing I could say to that.   
  
After a while Spiral said, “She was a good person. She could’ve had a good life. But not after Mojo took her.”  
  
She spread her hands out in front of her, looking down at the three tiered sets of palms. “After a while, there wasn’t anything left. He killed her. To try to be any part of her would’ve gotten me killed too. I have to be Spiral.”   
  
“Even now?”  
  
“Especially now. Do I look like a ‘Rita?’ And if I was Rita, if I could be, who would protect Ginny? If I was Rita, would you even want to be with me? And, would I want that? Not now that I have power. Some people shouldn’t come back from the dead.” She glanced over at me and smirked. “Present company excluded.”  
  
I snorted and snagged a muffin out of the breadbasket. She’d made them yesterday with nuts and four kinds of dried fruit and they were still impressively moist.   
  
“Why does everyone call you Illyana?” she asked.   
  
“Because that’s my name. Oh, instead of Magik? Because I say ‘magic’ a lot and the whole magic/Magik joke got old after the first five-hundred times.” I tapped the stack of mail and asked, “Where’s Devi from?”  
  
“India. I have a lot of friends there and they call me Devi.”  
  
“Doesn’t that mean ‘goddess?’”  
  
“Yep.” She turned to face me and raised her arms around her body, hands in various graceful mudras. “Durga Devi, Spiral Devi. I like it.”   
  
“That why you hang out in India?”  
  
“Nah. It’s a perk, sure. A friend who came through my body shop invited me to set up there.”  
  
I paused with the half-eaten muffin inches from my lips and lowered it. “You have a body shop? In India? _For what_?”  
  
I shouldn’t have let the shocked dismay into my voice because she took the muffin out of my fingers with her metal hand and crushed it. “What do you think?” she snarled.  
  
I plucked a piece of apricot and dough from between her fingers and ate it. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked. A little ungraciously, but I’m honestly asking.”  
  
“Oh,” she said and put the lump of muffin on the counter. She got another out of the basket, tore it in half and gave me half, chewed on the other half. “I figured you thought I was forcibly modding the untouchables for kicks.”  
  
There wasn’t a good reply to that so I stared at the half muffin and waited. It’s not like people didn’t think a bunch of things about me and what I did in Limbo … but sometimes they were right.   
  
“I’m not,” she said. “I give people what they want, what they can’t afford. I give them lives.”  
  
“You go to India and give people surgeries they need but can’t pay for?”  
  
She nodded.   
  
“But then, what do you do for money?”  
  
“What do _you_ do?”  
  
“I’m a professor,” I said with a shrug. “The school actually pays me to talk about magic, if you can believe that. And sometimes I sell artifacts to Dr. Strange.”  
  
“Fancy. Why do you want to know?” Spiral asked.   
  
“Curious. Kind of want to know that you and Ginny are okay.”  
  
“We are.” After a long while, Spiral spoke again. “I sell drugs.”  
  
“No, seriously.”  
  
“Illyana, I sell drugs.”  
  
“Oh. What kind?”  
  
“Opiates mostly, some uppers. Anything you can get overseas without a prescription but need one for in the States. And some things you can’t get legally anywhere. I’m a teleporter, it’s the easiest job in the world. I sell drugs to assholes in the States for cash and then I go where people need me and I help them out.”  
  
“What if you get busted?”  
  
“By who? Cops can’t touch me. You going to send your pretty, little X-People after me?”  
  
I shook my head. We had bigger things to deal with than Spiral selling drugs, and that was not a fight I wanted to start. Fairly sure my X-People could take her if they really had to, but I did not want to see that. I needed her and my people and Ginny to all be on the same side.   
  
“What kind of surgeries?” I asked, because somehow that had become the safe topic.  
  
“A lot of tumors, like you saw with that dog. I can get them out better than most clinics, especially in areas where they don’t have up-to-date equipment. And a lot of sex changes, especially in India and Thailand.”  
  
“You … uh … tumors and sex changes, isn’t that a bit of a left turn?”  
  
“Quality of life, my love. Both have a huge impact on quality of life. Plus if I do it right, I can switch up the endocrine system so I’m basically full service reproductive kit & hormone replacement. Those are some of my favorite surgeries. I mean, taking out a tumor that’s going to kill someone is great, obviously, but it’s not fun. Making it so a person is joyful in their body, that’s fun. Plus the endocrine system is really fiddly. Gives me a kind of high when I get it right.”  
  
She fanned out her hands again, this time between us and said, “I know what you’re thinking. He changed me completely against my will. He made my body into something alien to me and I had to take it back, make it mine again. So yeah, I’m projecting all over the place—seeing myself in these people when I give them the bodies they want and need. Yeah, maybe I’m giving them what I can’t have or didn’t have or never had a choice about. That’s mine to give, so why not? Why shouldn’t as many people as possible get what I had taken away—the right to feel at home in my own skin?”  
  
That wasn’t what I’d been thinking, but I’d have gotten there eventually. It was very on point.   
  
I took two of her hands and put them on my hips, she put two more around my back and the last two loosely over my shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the back of my neck.   
  
“I’m sorry. And I love how you are now," I told her. "And you’re right, I probably wouldn’t date an average human named Rita.”  
  
“Oh, I was never average,” she said.  
  



	6. Why We Have Jazzy Chickens But a Dog Named Kate

In addition to the chickens, there were two cats: Trombone, the house cat and her nemesis the barn cat. The barn cat ended up being named “Buckwheat,” because Spiral had started out calling it “Fuckwit” but then realized this was a bad idea for when Ginny visited the houses of her less foul-mouthed, human friends.   
  
On top of all that, Ginny added a dog to the mix. I came into the living room one afternoon and there was a scruffy black and white dog licking its paws—and a fierce but loving argument going on between Spiral and Ginny.   
  
Ginny had two hands on her hips and Spiral had six hands on hers, but it still looked like Ginny was winning.   
  
“Fine, she can stay in the house. In your room. And if I step in poop in the yard, you’re grounded. But I am not calling her Ms. Barkypants,” Spiral said.   
  
The dog looked up and barked once.   
  
“See,” Ginny said. “She likes it. And we are not calling her ‘Harmonic’ or whatever you’re thinking.”  
  
Spiral opened and shut her mouth, like Ginny had totally jumped ahead of her and she hadn’t quite caught up.  
  
Unhelpfully, I snarked, “You can always call her Kate Barkinsale.”  
  
Ginny looked at the dog, who made a “wroo” sound. Ginny declared, “Perfect.”  
  
And that’s how Kate Barkinsale came to live with us.  
  
*  
  
The door to Ginny’s room was half open. I pushed it wider with my foot.   
  
“Hey, I’m going to the sto—“ the words died on my tongue because of the tableau in front of me.   
  
Ginny was sitting in bed, pillows piled against her headboard. Pumpernickel was at the foot, one arm around each of two chickens that had to be Boogie and Beebop. Trombone the cat sat on the window ledge like she didn’t give a shit that there were chickens in the room.   
  
Kate Barkinsale slept on the floor just beyond the foot of the bed and I’m pretty sure Doreen—that squirrel—was curled up and sleeping under Kate’s bushy tail.   
  
“Gingin, does your power work on animals?”  
  
“Uh yeah, of course. You’re just figuring that out now? How did you think I took the neighbors’ horse home all those times she got out?”  
  
“Your natural charm,” I said. “Figured you were just good with animals.”   
  
“I like animals. But I’m pretty sure it’s my power.”  
  
“And … demons?” I waved in Pumpernickel’s direction. “It works on demons?”  
  
“I think so, but it’s hard to tell because Pumpernickel’s pretty scared of you.”  
  
“Should be,” I grumbled. “Some chickens would be too if they knew what was good for them.”  
  
“Hey, be nice, you eat their eggs,” Ginny said.   
  
“Not Boogie’s.”   
  
“Really? Oh wow, is that why some eggs have ‘B’ on them in marker? You seriously know how to hold a grudge. Will you teach me?”  
  
“Nope. You want anything from the store?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll make you a list. Doreen’s pretty particular about her nuts.”   
  
  



End file.
